


Making A Mess

by talkingtothesky



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is torn between neatness and chaos. Or, Sam and Gene have sex in a cloakroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making A Mess

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by basaltgrrl's gorgeous artwork [here](http://lifein1973.livejournal.com/2387533.html).

Sam tends to think of himself as a...tidy person, on the whole. Maya used to tease him for alphabetising his spice rack. He is meticulous about paperwork, about tying up the loose ends of a case.

 

Since being with Gene, Sam has strewn his clothes carelessly over the floor more times than he ever would have dared, before.

 

Lots of things about this rediscovered decade are freeing. Sometimes his conscience pricks him for his newfound willingness, no, his desire, to disobey orders. To practice insubordination like a badge of honour. Back home he hadn't dared breathe funny in case it upset social services, or the press, or his colleagues. But now his boss...the responsibility is more on Gene to tell him when he's out of line. He reserves the right to listen and then totally ignore whatever dubious wisdom Gene chooses to impart, of course.

 

Except for those times when he can't ignore him. The times when the world makes perfect sense in his presence. Kicking doors down, getting his hands dirty, making a difference.

 

So Gene turning up at his door looking fucking stunning and telling Sam he's not allowed to make a mess? No. No way.

 

Sam endures two whole hours of making small talk with other seventies coppers, none of whom are half as intelligent or charismatic as Gene, before his impatience gets the better of him. Gene is in his element, laughing with old mates from his days on the beat, but Sam just wants him so badly it hurts. He catches Gene's elbow and all but drags him in the direction of the cloakrooms, shoves him against a wall. He can feel that Gene's already half-hard, just from Sam frogmarching him along the corridor.

 

That earns him a kiss, or three. During the first kiss Gene stays mostly closed-mouthed, but partway through the second he gives in to Sam's firm pressure and by the end of the third his tongue is practically down Sam's throat, hands clutching at his shoulders to tug him closer before eventually, reluctantly dragging him away. "Sam! Rented tux, remember?" Sam glances briefly at the open door, conscious of the risks they're taking and enjoying it all the more for that.

 

"I don't care, I'll buy it. Make you wear it every night." Sam slides his hands down Gene's chest, deliberately increasing the number of wrinkles in the pristine white and heavily starched fabric. When he reaches Gene's waist he swiftly changes direction and allows his fingertips to creep up underneath the back of Gene's suit jacket, tracing idle patterns in the warmth radiating through his shirt. Gene's already arching towards him, so it's the easiest thing in the world to tighten the circle of his arms and pull him closer, hands in the small of his back. With a hitch of breath Sam can't resist rocking forwards, bumping their cocks together through layers of clothing, lips finding Gene's neck again. He's encouraged by one of Gene's hands finding its way down to squeeze his arse.

 

"Well, Sammy-boy, you can be the one to explain why I'm not returning it - _ah_." That's the moment when Gene's knees go weak.

 

Sam steers him onto a bench, kisses his cheek. "Stay there." There's a few tense moments as Sam looks around for something to barricade the door shut with. He might be feeling reckless, but he's not stupid.

 

When he returns, Gene's already got his zip undone, hand inside his pants, cupping himself. As soon as he knows Sam's watching he pushes his other hand in too, rubbing more insistently, wrist flexing as he tries to get a better angle. Mouth watering, Sam hears himself growl. "Oi, hands off! Let me suck you?" He means to whisper, but he's too desperate to be soft. Gene grins widely up at him, uninhibited and playful; Sam momentarily forgets how to breathe, how to control his pounding heart.

 

He hastens to get down, sweeping a pile of other people's coats onto the floor and kneeling on them. Sam supposes he ought to feel guilty about that, but can't be bothered. Digs his fingers into Gene's inner thighs, getting him to spread his legs as wide as he can. Gene lifts his hips and shifts his arse forward to put his crotch closer to Sam's face, removing his hands from his underwear and pressing down on Sam's shoulders instead. His challenging smirk is obvious. Sam fully intends to live up to it.

 

He takes a moment to adjust himself in his trousers, settle back on his heels, get comfy. He's still got his hands on Gene's thighs, thumbs stroking lazily. Sam lets one hand slide slowly forwards, then down, turning his palm over and pressing his fingers together, cupping Gene's balls through his trousers. The material's thicker, better quality than Gene's usual work trousers, and Sam likes the feel of it. He smiles wolfishly up at him, deliberately imitating his way of speaking: "I've got you by the knackers now, Gene."

 

Gene laughs, a little breathlessly. He lets go of one of Sam's shoulders, tucking his fingers into the short hair above Sam's collar instead. He doesn't tug or paw at him, just rests his hand there affectionately.

 

Sam gives him one good squeeze before he lets go to properly free Gene's jutting cock from his underwear. He grips him about halfway down, finally ducks his head to lap delicately at the moisture gathering at the tip. Sam is aware, because of the knock against his elbow, of Gene's left knee jumping a little when he does that. So he does it again, more firmly this time. Gene's familiar taste spurs him on. He moves his fingers further along the shaft and takes it into his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. Gives himself over to instinct. Somewhere above him there's a soft thud which might be Gene's head lolling back against the wall. Sam sucks him a bit harder, feels for Gene's hip with his free hand to support himself.

 

He realises that neither of his shoulders have Gene's hands on them now, leaving him free to crane up and take more in. He curves his tongue around the next few inches, breathes in harshly through his nose and hears Gene grunt. Gene's hand has started brushing through his hair, back and forth across Sam's scalp, ruffling and caressing. When he grunts his fingers clench tighter for a second then immediately relax. Sam is sweating, and his heart's beating so hard his chest hurts. He purses his lips around Gene's length once more then gradually pulls off. Opening his eyes, he presses his forehead against a small sliver of the cool wooden bench between Gene's legs. He stares down at the floor, the coats beneath his knees until he manages to calm down enough to continue. He undoes his trousers because they're downright painful by now, relieves the pressure back to a bearable level with several firm pulls.

 

When he straightens, he accidentally ends up with Gene's erection touching his neck. It's warm and wet from his efforts. He swallows experimentally, lets the column of his throat bob against at it on the outside instead of in. Gene's still got his head thrown back against the wall, so Sam watches his throat convulse in reply.

 

"Okay, Guv?"

 

Gene gradually tilts his face back down. His eyes look a bit glazed and, when he sees the situation with Sam's neck, they widen and he gasps. " _Christ._ Yes. And you need to call me that when you're on your knees more often."

 

"I think you'll find - " Sam manoeuvres around and nips very lightly with his teeth at a patch of smooth skin just below the curve of his belly and Gene yelps. "- I'm the one in charge here. Guv."

 

He lets his jaw hang open and touches just the roof of his mouth to the tip of Gene's cock. From this new angle he finds it much easier to do what he'd been trying to do before, suppressing his gag reflex and tilting his head forwards so that he swallows Gene more or less in one go. Gene swears loudly. His legs jerk. Sam has to grab hold of himself rather quickly as he feels Gene start to come. And then there's liquid pouring down his throat, and he's sucking as hard as he can but some of it trickles back down Gene's cock and drips onto his trousers and the bench and down Sam's chin and _fuck_. ~~~~

 

A minute later he lets go. He allows himself a few more chasing licks but then he slumps forward, panting slightly, grabbing and squeezing himself until he comes with his face tucked into Gene's thigh. Gene's hand is on his shoulder again, rubbing down his back. Eventually Sam just falls onto his arse and sits there in a daze for a while. When he lifts his head again Gene touches his face.

 

"Look at you," Gene murmurs, voice rich and relaxed. He traces his thumb along Sam's jaw, rubs the drying spit and spunk from his chin.

 

Sam tries to stand up, but his legs are like jelly. Instead, Gene sits down on the floor next to him, right in the wet patch. Heedless of this - and Sam realises that tux really isn't going back, and they still have to get out of here without anyone noticing - Gene rescues a handkerchief from his top pocket and proceeds to tidy up Sam's face and neck properly. It ought to be Sam restoring order to everything, but in this moment he's happy handing over that task to someone else, because he trusts Gene to be both the cause of chaos and the safe port in a storm, as and when he needs it.

 

_I love you_ , Sam thinks. And isn't that just the most glorious mess of all.


End file.
